Goodnight, Auntie Pat
Pat and Baby Ash getting the mail.
Ash with Auntie Pat
June 12 2005.
Sept 24 1940 - Aug 18 2011
The funeral Mass was this morning. One of the more welcoming Catholic services I've ever attended; in its own way it suited her spirit well.
Alzheimer's took her from us long before now, but we never stopped loving her.
*****
She was TGGMH for the longest time.
The Great Galactic Mother Hen, to anyone who entered her realm.
And she was. You never left her house without having been fed, fussed over, given at least one article of clothing, and possibly had a $5 tucked in your pocket.
She even once ninja-lasagna'd us.
When Imp was eleven months old we'd moved to Acton to be closer to Tf's work, and chaointe's parents lived in the next town over, maybe five minutes from us. She knew we were a young family fighting to make ends meet and adopted us right then and there. We came home once and found an entire lasagna, covered in foil, left on our lower step with a note. "EAT!"
She would take Imp clothes shopping constantly, even picking up things when she was out on her own for her. She and Uncle John always made sure Imp had enough to start school with. All the things we were too broke to provide, that would have left her an outcast otherwise.
I was their groundskeeper for quite awhile, but over time it got so I didn't bother actually billing for the time I put in, I considered it "paid in kind". Planted hollies and dogwoods, took her shopping, rebuilt the stone pathway, tamed the monster rhododendron, put in a hosta bed where grass had been failing for years.
Pat utterly doted on Imp from the time she was an infant. She adored that her middle name was "Thistle" and called her by it, showing off photos on her refrigerator of how she'd grown. She'd take her to the library and let THOSE ladies fuss over her as well.
Even today some of those people recognized her, though they couldn't believe how much she's grown.
We'd said goodbye to Pat long ago, while the disease had still left her with some idea of who we were, and that we loved her.
In the interim we did some grieving, but none of it really prepares you for when they're entirely gone. Even when they don't know who you are, or cannot speak, or remember how to smile, they're still... visually... there. Now it's final. She's never going to wake up one day and be cured, come home, be the Pat we knew.
But TGGMH lives on in our minds and hearts, not as AD made her.
The best way for us to honor her memory is to try and emulate her whenever we can.
Welcome people, provide for them when you can, and remember the little things that make them smile.
Public post; comments are screened.